Please Come Home for Christmas
by SFGrl
Summary: Sometimes, even the greatest love affairs need a little miracle... {complete}
1. Meet Charlie

Please Come Home For Christmas 

I suppose that I did break the rules—technically speaking.  But sometimes, circumstances require one to go above and behind what is required, and if that means breaking the rules, then so be it.

I guess I should introduce myself.  My name is Charlie, and I'm an angel.  I know, I know, you were expecting a white gown and big-ass wings, but come on, this is New York City, and a person, even an otherworldly one, can't walk around with gigantic wings attached to them.  

But I digress.  Us angels are assigned different jobs up there.  Some angels just watch the living, while others help guide decisions…it's what you humans call 'fate'.  Whenever 'fate' intervenes, it's actually an angel.

Angels like myself are given different assignments all the time.  We kind of specialize in helping people, usually with love, but not always.  I know what you're thinking…and just to set the record straight, we had nothing to do with Tom and Nicole!

I keep veering off topic.  I have a tendency to ramble, so forgive me.  Anyway, my last assignment was a doozy.  All I had to do was get this kid home for Christmas—sounds simple enough, right?  Yeah, easier said than done.  The first problem was, he'd convinced himself that he didn't _want_ to be home—even though I knew better.  The second problem was, they had interfering, well-meaning, but completely incompetent friends.  Well, incompetent may be _a bit_ harsh, but let's face it; these people can't see true love when it's standing right under their noses!  For example, there's the brother of the girl, and her best friend.  _Ross and Rachel_.  I don't know what we have to do to get them to see that they were meant to be!  We've tried nearly everything, and frankly, we're running out of ideas.  My buddy Matthew—yes, _that _Matthew—thought it would be a hoot to get them to have a baby together.  The Big Guy wasn't too thrilled with that idea, but I'll tell ya, if we get desperate enough…

Ugh, I'm digressing again.  My assignment wasn't Ross and Rachel—heck, we already have a whole team working on those two—no, my assignment was the girl, Monica, and her fiancé, Chandler.  I figured the assignment would be cake, because they were already together, and they were clearly in love.  I'm not even really sure what happened—I mean, it should have been a no-brainer, getting Chandler to come home for Christmas.  But things were said…things that were difficult to take back, and by the end of the night, both were totally convinced that the other didn't want to get married anymore.  She told him she never wanted to see him again, and he told her that he was more than happy to leave.

You know, this kind of stuff isn't supposed to happen to couples like this.  I guess that's why I was sent down to intervene.

I found Chandler, wandering the streets of New York, about an hour after his fight with Monica.  He looked upset, and not very approachable, but part of my job is getting people to share their deepest feelings…I mean, how hard could it be?  I walked up to him, as he was purchasing a bag of roasted pecans from a street vendor.

"Hey," I said, in a friendly, jovial way.

He smiled, but it was tight, and not very inviting.

"Happy Holidays," I said.

"Yeah, whatever."

Geez!  What do I have to do to get this guy to talk?  I shook my head, and followed him as he ventured into a church.  He sat in the back, and, judging by his awkward demeanor,  it was clear that he hadn't been inside a church for a very long time.  He stared blankly at the choir that was rehearsing up at the front of the church—preparing for Christmas Mass.  I took a seat in the pew behind him.

"There's nothing like beautiful music, to put you into the holiday spirit," I sighed aloud.

I watched him as he took a deep breath, and noted that he was trembling slightly, so I continued.

"The time of year to be with the one's you love," I said.

To my surprise, he turned to me, tears in his eyes.  His jaw was set, and for a moment, I thought he was going to yell at me, or punch me in the face for following him.  But his expression melted away, and was replaced by a sad, regretful expression.  He looked into my eyes, and I was unnerved by what I saw.

"Only if someone loves you," he said quietly, and walked out of the church.

I sat there, dumbfounded.  This assignment had suddenly gotten much harder.  Not only did I have to get this kid home, I had to help him find his Christmas spirit.

For the first time in 800 years, I had no idea where to begin.

_Bells will be ringing the sad, sad news_

_Oh what a Christmas to have the blues_

_My baby's gone I have no friends_

_To wish me greetings once again_

_Choirs will be singing "Silent Night"_

_Christmas carols by candlelight_

_Please come home for Christmas, _

_Please come home for Christmas_

_If not for Christmas, by New Year's night_

_Friends and relations send salutations_

_Sure as the stars shine above_

_For this is Christmas, yes, Christmas my dear_

_It's the time of year to be with the one you love_

_So won't you tell me you'll never more roam_

Christmas and New Year's will find you home 

_There'll be no more sorrow, no grief and pain_

_And I'll be happy, I'll be happy, once again_

_There'll be no more sorrow, no grief and pain_

_And I'll be happy, happy Christmas, once again_

("Please Come Home for Christmas", Brown/Red)


	2. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas 

_(Please Come Home For Christmas, Chapter Two)_

_Christmas Eve_

It had been…brewing, for lack of a better word, ever since the engagement.  This gnawing, dark, unsure feeling that sat in the pit of his stomach.  He loved her, he knew that he loved her, and he knew that he wanted to marry her, to spend his life with her.  His growing frustration with her was more related to the wedding, than to the marriage.

She couldn't look past the moment—she was consumed by the wedding, and it was driving him mad.

But he was willing to let all of that go; after all, the wedding would be over in a little over four months, and then all would be well again.

But then there was the baby conversation.  She started talking about how they should start trying during the Honeymoon, so that they could get pregnant in the first year.  He expressed doubts, saying that they should get used to each other, as a married couple, before they started reproducing.

She took it badly, and everything spiraled from there, and suddenly, they were saying the wedding was off.

And now here he was, wandering the streets of New York, freezing his ass off, with nowhere to go.  Sighing heavily, he wandered up to a roasted nut vendor.

"Hey," a warm, jovial voice came from his left.

Chandler smiled, though he had no desire to start an uncomfortable conversation with a total stranger.

"Happy Holidays," the old man said.

Chandler felt his anger rise; stupid holidays!  He hated the holidays, nothing good ever happened to him during the holidays—tonight being a prime example.

"Yeah, whatever," he sighed, and walked away.

He walked down the street, and paused, as he came upon a large Catholic church.  It had been years since he'd been inside a church…but he needed to get out of the cold, and he longed to be somewhere beautiful.  Sighing heavily, he shuffled up the concrete steps and walked into the church.

The church was warm and inviting, and the choir up front was rehearsing "Silent Night."  Chandler took a seat on a pew near the back of the church, and as his feet thawed, his mind wandered.

He thought about what Monica had said.  How she thought that there was nothing more important than her wedding.  _Her_ wedding.  He'd suddenly felt all of his insecurities re-surface; what if he was just the guy who happened to be there when she wanted to do this?  She had after all, _considered_ Richard's hasty proposal the very same night _they'd_ gotten engaged.  But, Chandler reminded himself; she _had_ chosen _him_ over Richard…

And yet the insecurity lingered.  He could not _believe_ he was questioning this, but…was it possible that Monica didn't love him the way that he loved her?  A few months ago, he would never have even asked the question, but now…now everything had changed.

"There's nothing like beautiful music, to put you into the holiday spirit."

Chandler was suddenly pulled from his thoughts, as the choir continued to practice.

_Through the years we all will be together, if the fates allow,_

_Hang a shining star upon the highest bow_

And have yourself a merry little Christmas now… 

Chandler felt himself shudder slightly, as he realized that he had no spirit in him this night.

"The time of year to be with the one's you love."

The statement stung Chandler, and he turned and glared at the man sitting behind him.  He was slightly startled to note that it was the kindly old man that had been at the vendor cart.  There was something…familiar about this man, and something that made him very sad.  He suddenly felt hopelessness course through him, and felt the urge to get out of there.

"Only if someone loves you," he said sadly, and dashed out of the church.

~*~

Monica was trembling, when Rachel and Ross walked into the apartment.

"Mon, what's wrong?" Rachel asked, concern lining her voice.

"Chandler-er…he…he left," Monica stuttered.

"What?  Where?" Rachel asked, shocked.

"We fought, and we…I don't think we're engaged anymore," Monica sobbed.

"What happened?" Ross asked.

"We…he said that he didn't want kids…and that he…he thought I was too consumed with the wedding, and I…I don't know, I just got so mad!  Everything had been going wrong with the caterer, and then the stress of the holiday…this…this was the last thing I needed," Monica sighed, and wandered toward the towering Christmas tree that stood shimmering in front of the window.

"I'm gonna hunt him down, and kick his—"

"Ross, not now," Rachel growled, then approached Monica, honey, I'm sure he'll be back tonight, and you guys can work things out…it's all a big misunderstanding, I'm sure.  Plus, it's Christmas!"

"I don't…I don't want to celebrate Christmas this year," Monica said sadly, "I just…can't," Monica pulled a small gold ornament from the tree, and looked at it sadly.  It slipped from her hands, and shattered into a million tiny shards onto the floor in front of her.

She looked down at the starburst of glass at her feet, and sighed, before retreating to her bedroom, fully intent on staying there until the holidays were over and gone.


	3. Led By the Light of a Star

_Led by the Light of a Star_

_(Chapter Three)_

Funny, the way the human mind works sometimes.  Though it had been his intention to get as far away as possible from everything he knew, something…something deep inside his subconscious, made him take all of the turns it took to get him back into the Village, and in front of their building.  Her building.  Their life.

He stood on the frozen curb, staring up at the light that emanated from the apartment window.  _Warm, golden, inviting_, were the words that used to come to his head, when he would walk up to the building, on his way home from work.  His mind would fill with visions of Monica; with the sweet scents of whatever she was cooking for dinner that night; with the love that shone in her eyes, when he walked through the door.

Lately though, he would look up at the light, and wonder what kind of mood Monica would be in; how mad she would be at the slightest detail going awry, sending the entire wedding, and thus, Monica's _entire_ life, off course.  He would wonder if she bothered to cook anything, or if she would tell him to make himself a sandwich, and leave her alone.  Not that he was totally incapable of cooking…but Monica didn't like him to be in the kitchen without her supervision, and the last thing he wanted to do was set her off these days.

This night, however, he just wanted to see her face; to tell her he was sorry, and that he wanted to spend his life with her.

But he couldn't.  He couldn't because his pride got in the way; because he knew that nothing would change; because she never listened, and he was exhausted.

Sighing heavily, he entered the building, stopping only briefly on their floor.  He peered quickly at their closed apartment door, and then ascended the stairs to the roof.

It was a clear night, and bitterly cold.  He exhaled, his eyes following the white mist that danced from his dry lips.  

"Bahh!" Chandler jumped back, when he saw the old man from the church standing on the other end of the roof.

"How—How the hell did you get up here?" Chandler yelled, "And who are you?"

"My name's Charlie; and I flew up here."

"You-you _flew_?" Chandler asked incredulously.

"Yes," Charlie said matter-of-factly, and crossed the roof toward Chandler.

Chandler backed up. "Okay, uh, I gotta go…" he said, and turned to leave.

"Where are you going to go, Chandler?" Charlie called out, stopping Chandler in his tracks.

Chandler turned slowly, "How did you know my name?" he whispered.

"I know everything about you," Charlie smiled, "Chandler Muriel Bing.  You work for Lipson Enterprises. You are an only child.  Your parents divorced when you were 8, because your father was sleeping with the houseboy.  Your first serious relationship was with a woman that has, quite possibly, the most annoying voice in the Universe.  You…"

"Okay!  So, we've established that you know me.  Why are you here?  Are you stalking me?  And if so, why?  Do I owe you money?  Are you—"

"Chandler, calm down.  I'm not stalking you.  I'm here to help you."

"Help me?" Chandler's brow furrowed.

"Yes.  Help you find your way home."

"Well, I hate to break it to you, but I _live_ in this very building."

"I know.  I meant it figuratively."

"What?"

"I'm an angel, Chandler."

"Oh, okay," Chandler laughed, and shook his head.

"No, I am.  I—"

"Okay, how about we go inside, and get you some coffee?" Chandler said slowly.

"Fine, you want proof, here's proof," Charlie snapped his fingers, and Chandler suddenly found himself standing in his parent's old house, in the living room, in front of a towering Christmas Tree.

"What the—" Chandler looked around, and saw his father, or a much younger version of him, sitting in his favorite reading chair.

"Dad?" Chandler whispered.

"He can't hear you," Charlie said quietly.  They were silent for a moment, and suddenly Chandler heard the faint sound of his mother, singing softly in the other room.

_O holy night, the stars are brightly shining;_

_It is the night of the dear Savior's birth!_

_Long lay the world in sin and error pining,_

_Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth._

_A thrill of hope, the weary soul rejoices,_

_For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn._

_Fall on your knees, O hear the angel voices!_

_O night divine, O night when Christ was born!_

_O night, O holy night, O night divine!_

Chandler smiled nostalgically, as the memories of his childhood came flooding back.  Then, just when Chandler thought it just couldn't get any stranger, a tiny, five-year-old version of himself came running into the living room, arms outstretched to resemble wings, and a sound that vaguely resembled and airplane engine coming out of his mouth.

"Chandler, no running in the house," Charles barked, without looking up from his morning paper.

Little Chandler dropped his arms heavily, and looked dejectedly toward the ground.  He looked up at the tree, and his eyes lit up again, when he caught sight of the vast amount of gifts under the tree.  He bolted toward the tree, and plopped himself at the edge of the avalanche of gifts.

"Are these for me?" Chandler asked, wide-eyed.

"All yours, sport, open up," Charles said.

Chandler grinned, and began to rip apart gifts, until he was practically buried in paper, boxes and toys.

The adult Chandler watched silently, a sad smile played upon his lips.

"I remember this Christmas," Chandler whispered softly, "I finished opening my gifts, and I looked around the room, and I was completely surrounded.  I looked toward my father's chair, but he wasn't there.  My mom was gone too.  Later, they'd told me they had some Christmas _luncheon_ to go to.  But at the time, I was totally alone, and I had no idea why.  I spent the entire day looking for them, all through the house.  I'd totally forgotten about the gifts at that point," Chandler sighed, as he watched his younger self's face, looking completely euphoric.  The adult version mourned the shattering of the moment that loomed.

"Was this Christmas the exception or the rule for you?" Charlie asked softly.

Chandler looked at his feet, then up at the young Chandler—the one who'd just realized that he was alone in the room.

"The rule," Chandler whispered, his words muffled by the lump that had formed in his throat.

"And so you grew up thinking that you should always be this miserable during the holidays?" Charlie inquired.

"I…I don't know," Chandler sighed sadly.

"Because this year, you can have a wonderful Christmas…the best you've ever had.  But you need to let go, and…go home."

"Well, I was home, but then you brought me into Mind-trip-ville," Chandler said.

"No, not home," Charlie pointed out the window, "Home," he said slowly, as he pointed to Chandler's heart.  He watched, as Chandler's eyes and mind registered the words.  "You are on the verge of having something unbelievable…and your instincts to kick away from the commitment will ruin it.  This isn't about weddings, or ex-lovers, or misunderstandings that lead to words you'll regret.  It's about your fear to cross over into the one thing that will change your life.  Her.  

You have the opportunity to fill your life with a dozen much better Christmas'.  Look at the younger you," Charlie pointed to the young Chandler, who was now wading through his spent packages, to find his absent parents, "You have the chance to see that look again.  To see that pure and utter joy that lights up a room, and fills your heart.  You can give that to your children—that one gift that your parents never gave you…"

"I—" Chandler stumbled over his thoughts, as his eyes searched the floor blankly.  He blinked, and suddenly, he was back on his roof, looking into the diamond-studded night sky.


	4. Charlie Breaks The Rules

_Charlie Breaks the Rules_

_(Chapter Four)_

While I was working with Chandler, I let their other friends try to work with Monica.  Unfortunately, they only made it worse.  Her brother Ross kept telling her that she should have seen it coming; Rachel and Phoebe wanted to know if they were still having Christmas; and Joey kept demanding to know where Chandler had fled.

It amazes me how selfish people can be at times, ya know?

So, I took matters into my own hands.  I walked up to her front door, and knocked.  When she finally opened the door, she looked at me crossly, but her voice was polite.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Um, yes.  I am a writer for the _Voice_, and I am asking people to share their best Christmas stories."

"I don't think that's a very good idea," she muttered.

"Oh?  Why not?"

"Because there is no Christmas here this year," she said solemnly, and moved to close the door.

"Merry Christmas, Miss Geller!" I yelled, as she shut the door in my face.  I waited for a moment, figuring that, like Chandler, she would wonder how I knew her name, and would return to the door.  But after a few long moments, it became clear that she had not given it a second thought.  I turned to leave, all the while wondering what I should do next.  I didn't have much time—it was going to be Christmas in _less than an hour_.  As I began to walk down the hallway, the door across the hall opened, and Monica's best friend Rachel stepped into the hallway.

Okay, so technically, we are not supposed to "inhabit" a living person without their consent, and even then, only in dire straights.  But I was desperate, and something had to be done.  I figured Rachel wanted to do anything to help…plus, I only needed to inhabit Rachel to get through the front door…

~*~

"Hey Monica," Rachel said, as she walked into the apartment.

"Look, Rach, I don't want to—"

"I know, I'm not here about that," Rachel smiled, and there was something in her eyes that made Monica pause.

"What-um-what's going on?"

"Look, I was thinking about what you said—about Chandler not wanting children."

"What about it?" Monica's voice was shaky, and she sunk into the sofa.

"What, um, what did he say—exactly?"

"Well—"Monica thought for a moment, "he said he didn't want to start trying during the honeymoon, because—"

"So, he wants to wait a year or so after you are married."

"Well—"

"How is that not wanting kids _at all_, exactly?"

"Look, I think _I_ know Chandler a little better than _you_," Monica said crossly.

"So, the other day, when we were at the coffee house, and Chandler said he thought you two would stay in the city until you were pregnant with your second child—that was just _talk_?"

"He—he said that?" Monica blinked in astonishment.

"Weren't you there?" Rachel asked, confused.

"No," Monica sighed.

"Look, Mon, I know that you've been stressed about the wedding stuff, but I think you need to realize that the wedding isn't everything.  I mean, there is a _reason_ you are having a wedding, right?"

"What?  What are you talking about?"

"Look," Rachel said, and pointed toward the kitchen.

Monica turned, and was astonished to see _herself_ sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through a dress catalogue.

"What the—"

"Shhh," Rachel smiled.

The door opened, and Chandler shuffled in, looking exhausted and cold.  

"Hey honey," he said, and approached Monica.  He leaned over to kiss her, and the snow that was on his shoulder and hair trickled down onto the catalog.

"Chandler!  You're getting the catalog all wet!" Monica shrieked, and pushed him away.

"Sorry, sorry," Chandler backed off, and shook out of his jacket, before placing it on the hook next to the front door.  He ran a hand through his hair, and turned to look at Monica.

"What are you looking at?" he asked timidly.

"Dresses," Monica answered shortly.

"How's it going?  Can I see?" Chandler smiled.

"Chandler, I'm trying to concentrate, okay?  There's leftover pizza in the fridge."

"The pizza from Friday?" Chandler asked.

"Is that a problem?" Monica asked icily.

"No, no," Chandler sighed.

"Look, I just want my wedding to be perfect, okay?" Monica said harshly, and moved toward the living room.  The Monica that was observing the scene kept her eyes on Chandler.

"Your wedding," Chandler muttered angrily, "Right."

Monica turned back to Rachel, who was sitting on the sofa quietly.

"I remember that night…though I never really saw—"

"What you were doing to the person you were marrying?" Rachel interrupted.

"I—"

"Look, Monica, Chandler loves **you**.  And he wants to spend his life with **you**, and have lots of kids with **you**.  But if you aren't marrying _him_—that is, if you are simply going through the motions _just to get married_—then you should let him go."

"What?"

"He deserves to marry a person who is more excited about the marriage than the wedding, Mon."

Monica looked back at the kitchen, and saw Chandler—the one she had been observing—sitting at the kitchen table, picking at a cold slice of three-day old pizza.  He sighed heavily, and pushed the plate away from him, before placing his head in his hands.

Monica looked at Rachel, tears lining her eyes.

"Look Mon, he still has his own issues—it's not all you.  But your recent behavior is bringing out old anxieties—and it's making him do and say things he doesn't really mean."

"We all do," Monica said sadly, "But it doesn't excuse my behavior."

"I think…it's time for you to make a decision," Rachel smiled, and walked out of the apartment.

_The snow's coming down _

_I'm watching it fall _

_Watching the people around _

_Baby please come home _

_The church bells in town _

_They're ringing a song _

_What a happy sound _

_Baby please come home _

_They're singing deck the halls _

_But it's not like Christmas at all _

_I remember when you were here _

_And all the fun we had last year _

_Pretty lights on the tree _

_I'm watching 'em shine _

_You should be here with me _

_Baby please come home _

_Baby please come home _

_Baby please come home _

_They're singing deck the halls _

_But it's not like Christmas at all _

_I remember when you were here _

_And all the fun we had last year _

_If there was a way _

_I'd hold back these tears _

_But it's Christmas day _

_Baby please come home _

_Ohh... _

Baby please come home 

_Baby please come home _

_Baby please come home _

_Ohh... _

_Baby please come home _

_Baby please come home_

**_It's Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home) _**_Written by: P. Spector, J. Barry and E. Greenwich_


	5. Home For the Holidays

_Home For the Holidays_

_(Chapter Five)_

Monica sat up quickly, and took in a sharp breath.  When had she fallen asleep?  Had she been dreaming?  She shook her head groggily, as she struggled to recover from what had clearly been a strange, yet very realistic dream.  She looked up at the kitchen clock—11:54—it was almost Christmas day, and she was totally alone.  Sighing heavily, she pulled herself off of the sofa, and walked toward the bathroom.  As she passed the Christmas tree, her arm brushed against an outstretched branch, and rattled several ornaments.  As she turned to steady the tree, a small, silver ornament fell into her hands.

She studied the ornament closely—she had never seen this ornament before.  The ornament was star-shaped, and sparkled beautifully in the light that emanated from the tree.  She wondered if the ornament belonged to Chandler, or maybe Rachel?  Carefully, she moved to re-place the ornament on the tree, but as she turned it over, she spotted an engraving on the backside;

Monica & Chandler 

_         B i n g_

_Christmas, 2002_

Monica was taken aback by the token—after all, it was only 2001…but, Monica suddenly realized, she and Chandler would be married by next Christmas.  And it finally hit her.  She was finally able to see what Chandler was seeing.  Ever since their engagement, and even long before, she had been planning for _one day_…he was focused on the rest of their lives.  Suddenly, the only thing she wanted, the only thing she needed at that moment,  was _him_.

Chandler made his way back into the building, and down the stairs to the second floor.  He'd spent a good deal of time thinking about his future with Monica.  He'd come to the conclusion that if she wanted to start having a family right away, then that's what they would do.  After all, they had had a decade together as friends, and three wonderful years as lovers.  And, let's face it; neither of them were getting any younger.  Smiling, Chandler opened the door to the apartment quietly.

He saw her, standing in front of the tree, staring at an ornament, and totally alone.  The apartment was warm and filled with a wonderful pine smell.  He took in the scene in front of him, not yet ready to make her aware of his presence.

Suddenly, a small, dark haired child ran up to the tree, giggling.

"Mommy, is Santa here yet?"

"Not yet, sweetie," Monica smiled, and turned to look at the little girl.  From her profile, Chandler could see that Monica was several months pregnant.

"Where's Daddy?" the girl asked, as Monica adjusted her dress.

"Right here, pumpkin," Chandler watched a slightly older version of himself emerge from the bedroom, his arms loaded with gifts.

"Are those for me?" the girl asked, wide-eyed.

"Some of them are," Chandler said softly, as he arranged the gifts under the tree, "One or two are for Mommy."

"Only one or two?" Monica asked playfully, and Chandler stood and pulled her close.

"Well, the house wouldn't fit under the tree," he whispered, and kissed her softly.

Monica sighed, and looked back at the tree.  "I can't believe this is our last Christmas in this apartment."

"I know," Chandler sighed, "it's gonna be strange."

"But wonderful," Monica smiled, and the child and Chandler vanished.

The Chandler that had been observing the scene, snapped out of his reverie, and walked fully into the apartment.

"Monica," he said quietly, and Monica whipped around, the ornament that she held disappearing as she turned.

"Chandler, you came home," Monica smiled, tears lining her eyes.  She crossed the room and fell into his embrace.

"I'm sorry, Mon.  I am totally okay with trying for kids during the Honeymoon.  I—"

"No, I'm sorry.  Chandler, I never meant to treat you so badly.  I was just so wrapped up in the wedding—look, it's no excuse.  You mean so much to me, and I—"

"I know, sweetheart.  Look, I know that you want the wedding to be perfect—"

"I don't care about that—all I want is you.  I just want to be your wife, I don't care how we do it."

"Really?" Chandler asked incredulously.

Monica nodded, and as Chandler looked into her eyes, his heart warmed.  He smiled, and pulled Monica closer.

"Then I think it should be as big and as beautiful as you want it to be.  After all, it is a celebration."

"Only if you promise to help," Monica grinned.

Chandler nodded, and kissed her softly.

"I love you, baby, Merry Christmas."

"I love you too—this is the best Christmas ever," Monica whispered.

"You haven't even opened your gift yet," Chandler said, pulling away slightly.

"I have everything I need right here."

"Even if I tell you I got you jewelry?"

"Well…"

Chandler laughed, and pulled Monica toward him again.

"Welcome home," Monica whispered into his chest.

Outside, the snow flittered down around a lone figure, standing with his hands in his pockets, and a smile on his face.

"And to all a good night," he whispered, before vanishing from sight.

Merry Christmas!

_Oh, there's no place like home for the holidays, 'cause no matter how far away you roam. When you pine for the sunshine of a friendly gaze, for the holidays you can't beat home, sweet home. I met a man who lives in Tennessee and he was headin' for Pennsylvania and some homemade pumpkin pie. From Pennsylvania folks are trav'lin down to Dixie's sunny shore; From Atlantic to Pacific, gee, the traffic is terrific. Oh, there's no place like home for the holidays, 'cause no matter how far away you roam. If you want to be happy in a million ways, for the holidays you can't beat home, sweet home!_

**_(There's No Place Like) Home For the Holidays, Music by Robert Allen and lyrics by Al Stillman 1954 _**

Roncom Music  ~ ASCAP 


End file.
